Rain
by Charcoalsketch
Summary: She knew what they said. But she couldn't bring herself to care. AU Raven/Malchior Oneshot.


She knew what they said. They pointed out the five year age gap, the fact he didn't seem to have a job (or, they would add disapprovingly, one that he could mention in public) and they asked her to reconsider.

She knew they were just looking out for her. But they didn't know that with him, she didn't feel so different – or creepy, for that matter, but it just seemed bitter to bring it up. Gar was _still _apologizing.

Her friends would look up in concern every time he came to collect her in that suspiciously expensive sports car she knew Victor really, really wanted. Dick would draw her aside and ask, overly casually, if she was doing alright. Kori didn't verbalize her anxiety, wanting to be the supportive friend, but she could tell she wasn't happy with the relationship.

She couldn't bring herself to care, when he whispered _Raven_ in her ear – he came up with the nickname, much to Gar's annoyance, when everyone started using it – she had never felt so wanted.

Loved, even, but that was a word Malchior didn't use.

Their relationship wasn't perfect, to be sure, but he made her feel beautiful, so she ignored the suspicious white packages that lurked in his coat pockets, and didn't ask questions about his cut knuckles or the bruises that littered his body. Because this was so precious that she didn't want to risk breaking it.

So she treasured the moments they had; sipping coffee in his flat, discussing poetry – she loved having someone to talk to who could actually express an articulate opinion – he would point out the constellations in the night sky and she would nod and smile and wish she could stop time.

She should have known he was going to break her heart; everyone told her he was dangerous and bad for her, but she had trusted him so completely that it shattered her when he left. There was no goodbye, no reason; he was just gone one day, leaving only an elegantly written (everything he did was elegant, and she hated the reminder) note telling her he was going to travel, and that he wished her all the best.

She ripped it up in injured fury, storming home and letting that tightly coiled anger she normally kept hidden away out, cracking vases and pushing things off tables. Then she slid to the floor in the middle of the chaos and wept, the violent sobs shaking her entire body.

Nobody had said _I told you so_, they just took in her red eyes and her defensive stance and left the subject alone, offering support in the only way they knew plying her with greasy pizza( food was their answer to heartbreak.)She knew they were glad he was gone though, and it hurt that she couldn't agree with them.

She met him again two years later, when she was in college and he had a steady job in an accountancy firm. He came up to her with a peace offering of her favourite herbal tea, and even in her shock she noticed he'd remembered. She could hardly bear to look at him, all the pain and the anger coming back in an agonising rush, so she quietly – Rachel never liked making a scene – got up and walked out of the coffee shop, not glancing back to see if he was staring after her.

He found her again. He told her he was on the straight and narrow now; he'd given up drug dealing and please, please wouldn't she give him another chance? Raven – he'd started, but she'd lost it then, and slapped him as hard as she could. She didn't let anyone call her that anymore.

But he kept trying, and it frustrated her to no end, why he didn't give up, but his slight smiles and his endless well of sarcasm brought back so many memories, so two weeks later she found herself agreeing to one (only one) date just so he would leave her alone.

He took her out to a small, gloomy looking café that none of her friends would have approved of in the slightest. She loved it, and she knew that he knew she would, so she shrugged and pretended indifference. He persevered though, talking about an interesting article he'd read on her favourite author. They fell back into their old patterns, and she found herself being sucked in. He was so funny and sensitive and he thought she was special – and then she panicked.

It was like having a bucket of ice cold water being thrown over her head. How could she have forgotten? He'd broken her heart, stamped on her already-frail trust. He'd _left_ her. So she withdrew from the conversation, much to his confusion, suddenly saying she had to leave and thank you for the tea but it wouldn't be happening again.

And she ran out of the cafe; she needed to get away from him, get away from the happiness he brought, because it was all fake and she'd only get burnt.

He followed her, catching her arm and stopping her. He had the nerve to ask what was wrong, so gently, as if he actually cared. So she'd screamed at him, telling him exactly how much he'd hurt her and how much she despised him. She questioned him derisively; did he really think she was so stupid she'd fall for it again? He looked at her with such unspeakably sad eyes.

_I love you Raven, _he'd said. _Even if you don't believe it, I do._

She'd stopped then; hating herself for believing the sincerity in his words yet forcing herself to protest their truth.

It started to rain, but neither of them cared.

They stood there, the downpour plastering their clothes to their skin and soaking their hair. She stared at him, trying to figure him out, but of course, she had never been able to do that.

He'd moved, not away as she'd expected, but towards her, taking two tiny steps forward. It was this nervousness that convinced her that perhaps, he was just as unsure as she was.

She told him they could try to be friends. He'd smiled sadly, but agreed anyway. He didn't have much of a choice.

So they tried to be friends. Staying in the constraints of a platonic relationship proved easier in theory than in practice, especially as he was determined to bend – not break – her carefully instated rules.

He helped her with her homework (he was still just as clever, dammit) finding every excuse to get closer to her or touch her in the smallest ways, and if she called him out on it, he would just smile innocently and deny all knowledge. He glared at any boy who tried to approach her, silently pointing out that he was older and better looking and far more sophisticated than any college junior. He would compliment her, not cheesy, obviously forced remarks, but he would comment on her hair one day, or tell her how attractive her laugh was. He always found it hilarious when she went red, telling her that gorgeous girls should be used to people flattering them.

She never told him he was the only person to think she was gorgeous.

Garfield blew up when he found out they were friends. He confronted her in the dorms, and demanded to know how she could trust him again, and what had possessed her. Didn't she remember what he did to her?

Of course she did, she shot back, but they were only friends and everybody deserved a second chance, didn't they?

He looked at her so patronisingly, shaking his head, and inquired if she was really so stupid she couldn't see she'd fallen in love with him all over again? Gar told her that he wasn't going to stick around and watch her get hurt again.

She stayed up that night, desperately examining her feelings. She couldn't possibly have broken all her carefully instated rules that were quite clear that she could absolutely, definitely, not fall in love with Malchior again.

But love, it seems, does not listen to guidelines, it is as old as the seas and as fresh as the new-born baby. It has no need to stop for safety or cautiousness; it comes at the most inopportune times and with an alarming intensity.

She hated herself for being so weak, for giving in. It always felt so glorious, falling, but he wouldn't catch her, no matter how much he pretended he'd changed.

She wondered why it was so hard to convince herself.

It happened three days after her epiphany, she was round at his flat trying to appear normal – they never met in her dorms as they were too busy – and he nonchalantly brushed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, smiling tenderly. And instead of leaning back, she leaned forward.

He tasted just as she remembered, like tea and rain and something glorious she couldn't identify. After a while (quite a while in fact, it seemed he'd missed her more than he'd let on) they broke away, breathless and heady.

She'd looked at him. He looked at her. And they smiled.

None of her friends approved this time either.

* * *

_A/N Review...maybe?_


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